Charita Goshay: Fear fans the arsonist’s flames

The current spate of arson fires in town is being committed for no other reason than they can be. The problem is, everything we do in life impacts someone else.

Charita Goshay

No matter what you’ve seen in the movies, firefighters don’t run into burning buildings unmasked, or with their coats flapping open like Superman’s cape.

But that doesn’t make for very good drama. The irony is that reality is much more dangerous. Some time ago, I took part in a “practice burn,” during which I came to realize that the Mint doesn’t print enough money for me to be a firefighter.

Imagine being essentially blind and walking into a building you’ve never been in, not knowing where your next step may take you.

Or not knowing if there’s something inside that may explode and kill you, or if the floor will support your weight.

Consider trying to maneuver in 50 pounds of bulky gear through smoke as black as India ink, or the frustration of trying and failing to save someone’s home, business or life.

It's personal

As the niece of a retired firefighter, I take it as something personal when someone deliberately sets fire to a structure.

I’m not naive. The kind of people who commit arson fires might read a story about the damage they’ve done but probably don’t read newspaper columns.

But on the off-chance they might, may they come to realize that the fires they’re setting aren’t just about what’s being burned. Every firefighter is someone’s father, sister or spouse. They, and the people whose homes are being destroyed, could die — literally. And for what?

War games

Did I ever tell you about the time I served in Vietnam?

Every now and then, media outlets run into a buzz saw because some person claims to have been a war hero, only to be found out a liar.

It’s been my experience that most real heroes don’t want to talk about themselves. If and when they do open up, it’s usually with a mixture of survivors’ guilt, laced with an admission of recurring nightmares and an insistence that the real heroes are the ones who still sleep beneath the sod, sometimes in places far from home.

Heroes will admit they were terrified.

If you allow them, they’ll condense the experience down to five words: “We just did our jobs.” They’ll tell you more than once that they don’t feel like heroes, even after all these years.

The closest I’ve ever been to Vietnam was eating “pho” soup in San Francisco, yet even that’s a far sight closer than some of the people who have desecrated the memory of the 58,261 Americans lost in that war.

Last week, Democratic senatorial candidate Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut was confronted for inexplicably lying about his military record, in which he claimed service in Vietnam.

Blumenthal, who actually served with honor in the Marine Corps Reserves, has apologized but not really explained why he did it.

Real heroes understand that bravery is like power: It’s not necessary to have it on constant display. It is enough that people know you have it.

Charita Goshay writes for The Repository in Canton, Ohio. Contact her at charita.goshay@cantonrep.com.